


i want roses on fire

by dustofwarfare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, First Times, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Loyalty Kink, Praise Kink, Pre-Time Skip, Scratching, Sex Without Romance, black eagles for life, even if it's kind of weird, implied crimson flower route but not really, of-age Edelgard, references to canon events of abuse (very mild), smacking, talking about war as foreplay kind of, very mild blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: "Come here," she commands, and unfolds like a flower on his bed._______________Or, Edelgard doesn't want her crush on her Professor to distract her, so she goes to Hubert to find out what all the fuss with sex is about.Hubert, as ever, does as she asks.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 38
Kudos: 257





	i want roses on fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is pre-time skip, but Edelgard is of age. This is consensual. The Hubert/Ferdinand and Edelgard/F!Byleth is mentioned/implied. These two aren't in love, Edelgard is just curious and her retainer is loyal to a fault. 
> 
> Hi, I'm new to this fandom and obsessively playing this game (Crimson Flower route, natch, i'm contrary af) and I'm over here like "m!byleth/jeritza my otp" and so i wrote like 7K of hubert/edelgard non-romantic loyalty/praise kink sex with some weirdly violent fantasizing on Hubert's part about blazing his bloody path (he says it in the game don't blame me). Hi pls don't kick me out of the fandom thanks??
> 
> Title from the song Little Pistol by Mother Mother.

She comes to his room at the Officer’s Academy, hair still tied back in a ribbon, all proper and serious as she sits on the edge of his bed. Her hands are folded primly in her lap. “I need your assistance with a rather delicate matter.” 

Hubert pushes his homework aside -- mindless busywork, for the most part, as it always is -- and half-turns in his chair, bowing as best he can while seated. “As always, Lady Edelgard, I am at your service.” 

She takes a deep breath. “There is something I wish to learn, and you are the only one I can think of who might best teach me.” 

“Of course.” Hubert sits up straighter. His mind is already two steps ahead, so that he can be prepared for whatever his lady demands of him. Does she wish for lessons in reason, a hidden weapon to add to her already formidable arsenal? It is not a bad idea, and keeping such knowledge a secret might give them a tactical advantage if -- 

“I would like you to take me to bed.” 

Hubert blinks. His face heats with sudden color. “Lady Edelgard!” If it were anyone else, he might accuse them of pulling some mean-spirited prank. But for _her_ that is near impossible, and yet -- she cannot _mean_ this. “Explain.” 

“Every day,” she says, so earnestly, “I see the students here acting as young people act, when in close confines with each other. As would be expected of anyone our age. Flirtations, and neglecting what we are here to learn in favor of dalliances.” 

Hubert can’t quite work up a response to that. “I see.” 

“And I don’t mean dalliances based on love or affection,” she says. “I mean the purely physical, as well. For...fun.”

Hubert is aware of what the others think about his devotion to Lady Edelgard. That he is a lovesick fool who hopes to rule at her side as imperial consort, or to use his influence to earn House Vestra favors. It is all wrong -- nothing about his feelings for her are as selfish as that. He wishes only to aid her, to be the shadow to her bright burning light of redemption. 

These foolish _children_ play at their flirtations and idle fancies, and they confuse love with loyalty because they don’t know what it means to truly devote themselves to one person. He has no time for such things. Nor, as he points out, does she. “We are, alas, not here to partake in the, ah, _delights_ of youthful romance, Lady Edelgard.” 

“I know that. I don’t desire it for its own sake, Hubert. I simply see the distraction it provides, this -- this yearning for another, for their touch.” Her face colors, and her eyes go far away, distant. “I see how wanting to experience it with someone might cause one to lose focus.” 

Ah. There is someone who has caught his lady’s fancy. He thinks of her in class, staring with rapt attention at the Professor. “I see.” 

“I do not wish for distractions, Hubert.” She clears her throat. “And I cannot help but think if I simply knew about this -- this business with sex and physical pleasure, my curiosity would be settled and I could go on about my business.” 

“Lady Edelgard, you cannot honestly mean to tell me you worry you will become distracted by a mere crush.” Hubert stares hard at her. “You have been the object of affection before, and it has yet to derail you in the slightest.” 

She nods. “Yes, I know that. It’s not someone else’s interest I’m worried about, though. It’s my own.” 

“The person you would like to experience this with, it is not me,” he says, bluntly. Were his lady carrying some absurd romantic feelings for him, he would surely know that. “Therefore I do not know why it would help.” 

“How do you know? Are you that experienced in these matters, then?” Edelgard’s fair eyebrows rise. “I had no idea.” 

He waves a hand, annoyed. “I’ve little time for such things.” If he pays attention to his classmates, it’s to ascertain their talents and their potential usefulness to Lady Edelgard...or to decide if they’re a threat, and how best to potentially neutralize them when the time comes. 

“Nor do I. And -- all right, fine, the object of my curiosity isn’t _you_ , but you’re my closest confidant and the idea of doing this with anyone else is rather daunting.” 

It’s as if they’re talking about having tea. Hubert shakes his head. “Then why do it at all?” 

She stands up, her small chin raised. “If you find yourself unwilling or unable to fulfill this request, you may simply say so and we’ll talk no more about it.” 

“It is only that I am not sure it is a good idea,” Hubert says, rising as well. “These sorts of things can complicate a situation, and this situation is, I’m sure you would agree, complicated enough as it is.” 

“I would like to experience physical intimacy in a context in which I don’t have to worry about it, not run off and marry you and become pirates chasing bouillon on the coast,” she says spritely, hands on her hips. “Honestly, Hubert, if you’re not interested, please do just _say_ so.” 

“You really wish to do this,” he says, fixing her with a narrow-eyed look. It makes Bernadetta cry, but his lady merely meets his stare with her own and does not flinch. “With me.” 

“I wish to do this,” she corrects him. “You are simply the only one I trust to do it with. There is some strange power in it, and I need to be prepared. How can I do that, if I know nothing of what the reality is like?” 

Hubert sighs. That would, no doubt, put anyone off the idea -- but not him. Far easier to think she wants to do this to gain knowledge that may serve her and her ambitions, than believe she harbors some foolish attraction or tender regard for him. “Very well. But if at any point you become unwilling or disinterested, do say so.” 

“You may be certain of that.” She looks around, her eyes falling on his bed, and then she reaches up as if to loosen the cape of her uniform. “Now, then?” 

“I suppose it’s as good a time as any.” Hubert moves toward the door, and casts a series of magics. For privacy, and because this activity involves some degree of vulnerability should an attacker materialize, protection. And one for silence, to keep their activities from those who might use such knowledge against them. Even if just to tease one or the other over tea. 

Edelgard takes off her cape and turns, lying it neatly across the low dresser next to Hubert’s desk. Her fingers go to the high collar of her uniform jacket, but Hubert -- finished with the requisite precautions -- says, “Allow me to assist you.” 

“You’re not my valet,” she says, but drops her arms to her sides. 

“No, but I do think it’s customary in these situations.” He steps in front of her and reaches out, easily working the fabric tie and buttons of her jacket. 

“Hubert, this is likely the least romantic assignation two people have ever indulged in,” she says, giggling a little. “I do not think we need worry too much about what’s customary, do you?” 

He’s surprised by the sound of her laughter, enough that he glances away from the uniform buttons and up to her face. “You say that, and yet you grew up in the Court where, admittedly, relationships were toxic as a rule. And if you wanted romance, my lady, you most assuredly came to the wrong place.” 

“I’m a bit nervous,” she confesses, and then adds quickly, “I don’t mean that you should stop! This is why I wanted to do this with you, Hubert. You’re the only one I could say that to without worrying about you thinking I didn’t want to continue.” 

Warmth suffuses him at that. He does like to hear she appreciates his loyalty, enough that he graces her with the slightest of smiles. “Thank you, my lady. I shall do my utmost to deserve the trust you’ve placed in me.” 

“I know you will. You always do, my friend.” She reaches up and gently brushes the fall of his hair out of his face. “Would you be all right with tying this back? I can’t quite reach, or I would do it for you.” She reaches behind her and pulls the violet ribbon from her pale hair, then presents it to him like a queen bestowing a boon to a favored knight. “Here. Use this.” 

Hubert is surprised at how much he likes the idea of wearing a sign of her favor in his own hair -- in private, of course. “If you wish it.” 

“I do.” 

He takes the ribbon and pulls the strands of his hair into a low queue, tying it as best he can. His fingers fumble a little; his hair isn’t quite long enough to manage a proper noble’s queue, but it should be adequate for their needs. 

Her smile is playful. “That’s not a bad look on you. How nice to see both of your eyes at once.” 

“Yes, well.” He pauses with his hands on the shoulders of her jacket, now completely unbuttoned. “My lady--” 

“Hubert,” she says, her smile fading. “I don’t wish to have to reassure you every two seconds. You have my consent until I say otherwise.”

There is a part of him that does not wish to do this, he realizes, as he slides the jacket off her and sets it aside. She is lovely, but she is so much more than a woman to him. His devotion has never been because of her shining hair or her lilac eyes or the graceful curve of her shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts beneath the thin camisole. 

It is her mind, her passion, her belief that there is a world to be remade in fire and blood -- _that_ is what intoxicates him, draws him in, keeps him by her side like a thorn protecting a rose. 

Her face flushes, and her eyes widen, and he wonders for a moment how he must be looking at her. “It is customary to kiss when one does this, yes?” 

Hubert has no idea. He’s not inexperienced when it comes to relieving his sexual urges on his own, but as far as involving someone else in the process…. “Is that a command, my lady?” 

“Yes,” she says, lifting her chin again. “Yes, it is.” 

If Hubert was a different man, he might have smiled at that. Instead, he tips her chin up, leans down, and kisses her. It is not unpleasant. Her mouth is soft, and she tastes a bit sharp like mint, and though their height difference makes it a bit of a strain he thinks perhaps he’s performing well enough. 

“Hmm,” she says, when he straightens. Her brow furrows. “That wasn’t bad, but I am not overcome with passion.” 

“Like romance, passion is not a skill at which I excel, my lady. I’m afraid this may not be a satisfactory experience for you."

Edelgard’s mouth quirks. “I believe the command is that you make it so, and I have yet to see you fail at a task I have given you.” 

Hubert huffs and slides a hand around her waist to her back, drawing her closer and kissing her. He can feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin material of her chemise. Her hands -- _those hands that will remake Fodlan, that will command armies to overthrow the tyranny of the Church of Seiros --_ are small, resting on his chest. 

So deceptive, those hands. He’s seen how she wields her axe. 

Her mouth opens to him without hesitation. The thought of her, of what she will become, of what he will scheme and fight and spill blood to make sure she _does_ become, is enough to rouse him. She is everything; her conviction, her quiet bright fire. He pulls her closer, his kiss more insistent. Perhaps his devotion will make up for the passion he surely lacks. 

“Oh,” she says, softly. Her eyes are wide. “That was better.” 

“My lady is too kind.” He watches her as she starts to work at the buttons of his own uniform, which she undoes down to his waist. Hubert shrugs the jacket off as she pushes it, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulders to do it for him. 

They are both now half-dressed; she in her chemise and the rest of her uniform, he in his uniform pants and a simple undershirt. Hubert has to fight his natural inclination to apologize for his state of undress, even though she’s technically responsible for it. It is not in his nature to be so unguarded. 

Edelgard reaches out and carefully skirts her fingers over his arms, his chest. She smiles a little. “You’ve some strength in your arms, for a mage,” she teases. 

“I have been practicing more with the lance, of late,” Hubert says. “I wouldn’t wish to disappoint you on the field, if magic wasn’t sufficient.” 

“My loyal, faithful friend.” She smiles up at him, her small face enveloped by the fall of her hair. She really is a tiny thing. He loses sight of that, when confronted with the sheer force of her personality and her will. “Do you not wish to touch me?”

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert says softly. “I wish to do so much more than _touch_ you. I wish to kneel for you. To _serve_ you.” 

“Then kneel,” she says, and her voice is delicious when she commands him, curling heat flaring like a spell in his blood. “And serve me.” 

Hubert kneels, head bowed. Her fingers are in his hair, on the side of his face, and now _she_ tips his chin up to smile down at him. His hands slide up her narrow hips and encircle her small waist, and he pulls her to him, pressing a reverent kiss to her stomach through the thin cotton. 

She makes a sound, fingers tightening in his hair. “Oh, I -- that’s -- yes, good, Hubert.” 

Hubert’s eyes slide half-closed as he presses his face against her stomach, breathing in her scent. His cock is growing hard, as if all he needed to want this was her to tell him to kneel. 

He wants to breathe her in, all that power and grace, all that _certainty_. He pushes the chemise up and touches his mouth to her skin. His fingers flex against her hips, and he rolls his eyes to look up at her. 

She’s breathing fast, one hand on his shoulder and the other still curled in his hair. “You like this,” she says, and despite the flush on her skin and the fine tremble in her body, her voice remains as steady as it always is. “Kneeling. Showing me you wish to serve me. Tell me that you do.” 

His cock throbs. Hubert needs a moment before he can answer. “Yes. Yes, my lady. I like it.” He would rather clear a bloody path of her enemies with his magic, or ensnare her rivals with a thousand clever traps, but she has come to him for this, to keep her focused, and he likes that he is giving her what she needs. His hands move higher, thumbs rubbing against silk-smooth skin. “I am yours, you know that.” 

“I do,” she says, warmly. She places a hand on his face, and he startles as her thumb slips between his lips. “I am not unmoved by how much you enjoy kneeling for me.” 

Hubert sucks on her thumb, tastes her skin, and shifts on his knees. When she draws her thumb out, she drags it wetly across his cheek and Hubert, for the first time, makes a soft sound at the sensation of being _marked_ , of her subtle and easy control, her _dominance._

She is _magnificent._

He knees for her because she is worthy. She accepts him doing it because _he_ is worthy. It is far more arousing than any kiss will ever be. 

“My lady,” Hubert whispers. His fingers go unbidden to the waist of her uniform short pants, and he is concerned to find it more difficult than it should be to unfasten the buttons. He must get himself under control. 

“I must say,” Edelgard murmurs, kicking off her heels as he finishes with the buttons, “you may not be gifted in romance or seduction, Hubert, but there is no one who can outmatch you when it comes to devotion and loyalty.” 

Hubert presses his face to her stomach again, overcome. He’s barely aware of what he’s doing as he pushes the short pants and her tights off, taking her underclothes with it. When he pulls away, it is to see that she has removed her chemise and is standing naked before him. “Your Majesty is kind to say so.” 

“Not _Your Majest_ y, not quite yet,” she reminds him with a smile. 

“Ah, but my lady. There has never been anyone else worthy of the title, save for you.” He presses hot kisses on her stomach, hands sweeping up her back and sliding back down, dizzy from her praise. He’s so hard that the press of his cock against his trousers is uncomfortable, but it is no matter. 

“I -- perhaps we could lie down, now,” she says, tugging on his haphazardly arranged hair. “On your bed.” 

Hubert pulls back and nods. “If that is what you want.” 

“It is. Please, stand.” She waves her hand, an imperious little gesture, and Hubert rises gracefully to his feet. “I should like you to undress. It is odd to be the only one naked in the room.” 

He gives her his customary bow, toes off his boots and socks, and then divests himself of his undershirt. She sits once more at the edge of the bed, watching, knees together and bent like she’s taking tea with a duke. 

As he unbuttons his pants, she says, “Tell me truthfully, is there no one you would do this with?” 

He pushes his pants down his hips, hesitating only briefly to bare himself and his arousal to her. “To serve another would be treason, Lady Edelgard.” 

“Not -- no, I mean, is there no one you would go to bed with? Here at Garrag Mach?” 

Hubert steps out of his pants and his underwear entirely, placing them neatly on his desk. “I haven’t the time, as I’ve said, and it isn’t as if I’ve a line outside my door.” He’s done everything in his power to keep his distance from his classmates. 

“No, but does anyone? Other than Sylvain?” She gives him a sly smile. “You and von Aegir spar like there may be something else, there.” 

Hubert huffs. “There is. I think he’s a danger and I shall probably have to kill him.” 

She gives a short laugh at that, but sobers quickly. “Nevertheless. I would like you to have something, when this is all over. Someone.” 

Hubert cannot imagine such a thing. “Perhaps. It is not anything I wish to consider at the moment, though it is nice to know you would want for my happiness.” 

“Of course. You have given up much for me, and you have stood by my side since I was four years old. We may not have some grand passion but you are dear to me, my friend.” She scoots back on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. “And you should have a reward for all your years of service.” 

Hubert flushes, a bit embarrassed by the focus being on _him_ like this, instead of her. “Seeing you victorious is all the reward I need, my lady.” 

She sighs. “When it is all over, there must be more than this. If our brave new world is unhappy, what will the point be in bringing it about?” 

_There_ is _nothing that I want more than this_. “As you say, my lady.” He wonders if she is thinking about the creatures they’ve sided with, those abominations that offer up power at such a steep price. When this is over, he is far more interested in annihilating Those Who Slither In The Dark than courting some former noble. 

“Come here,” she commands, and then unfolds like a flower on his bed. 

Hubert does as bidden, though he is not certain what to do now that he is here. The hazy desire of a moment ago has cleared like fog on the battlefield, and he is once again uncertain how to proceed without admitting to his inexperience.

Edelgard pushes up on her elbows. “Do you think I’m attractive? I have never been naked before anyone -- well.” Her mouth tightens. “Not since I was young. And never willingly.” 

At the memory of the terrible things she suffered -- the experiments, the torture -- his eyes narrow. “I will _eviscerate_ them for you, my lady. All of them. They will be nothing but rotted corpses or ash when I am finished.” 

She smiles and shakes her head, voice full of affection. “I know. And you will have my thanks. But my question remains.” 

“You are beautiful,” he says, in the same tone of voice he uses to tell Bernadetta _please stop shrieking, I’m here to have dinner, not feast on your still-beating heart_. “You must know that. False coyness does you no favors.” 

Her eyebrows raise. “I’m not used to being displayed like this, for another person’s enjoyment. I wish to know if you like it.” 

She sounds so bossy about it. “While my devotion has nothing to do with the way you look, either clothed or lying naked on my bed, I am not _dead_ and yes, you’re lovely and the sight is quite stirring.” 

“Please, sound more put out about it.” 

Hubert’s arms cross over his chest. “Are we done here, then?” 

“Save the ripostes for the battlefield and go back to worshiping me.” 

“I had thought,” Hubert drawls, amused despite himself, “that it was our goal to _end_ the worship of a goddess. If you wish to replace her with yourself, you may wish to let me in on that aspect of your plan. It will involve some paperwork and more than a few trips back to Enbarr on my behalf.” 

Edelgard groans and flops back on his bed. “By the sword, you’re impossible. I can only imagine how this would proceed if I _did_ wish for romance from you.” 

“So badly I would be marked for execution at dawn, no doubt.” 

She laughs. “If that long. I am eager to see what is next, Hubert. That clever mind -- and that clever mouth -- of yours can surely be put to better use?” 

He does not mention that she blushes when she delivers that line. “As you wish, Lady Edelgard.” He crawls up the bed and between her spread legs, bracing on his hands above her. “You _are_ lovely. I do not mean to offer offense. It is only that you are so much more than that, to me. I would never wish you to think I offer my devotion because of your beauty. I am no shallow man to be so easily swayed. But it does not mean I do not think you are lovely.” 

“I know. I apologize for my teasing.” Earnest, she reaches up and strokes the side of his face. Her smile is sweet. “Now, show me what I came here to learn, if you would.” 

“Of course.” Hubert kisses down her neck, over her shoulders, the sweet curve of her breasts. He is careful to follow her sounds and the little movements she makes beneath him -- he may have no experience doing this with others, but he quickly realizes he should not have worried. It’s not unlike battle, where you use every weapon in your arsenal, tailoring it to your opponent’s weakness. Hubert does like strategy, and he cannot deny this battle is sweeter than most. 

Edelgard feels good beneath his hands and his mouth, silky smooth skin and body strong from all that axe-swinging. She likes it when he sucks and licks her nipples, and when he bites them -- cautiously -- she makes the loudest sound yet, arching up against him. He can feel the warm press of her sex against his thigh, and that it’s slick and wet means he is doing well. 

Good. He is far more used to bringing death and destruction, but it would seem he is better skilled at this than he thought. Perhaps he ought let the Professor know of his budding talent, when next he takes his instruction. This skill may prove useful for he and Lady Edelgard both, in the days to come. 

Hubert presses a kiss to the inside of one of Lady Edelgard’s thighs, then takes her legs and drapes them over his shoulders. Without preamble he draws her forward, breathes in her scent and applies his mouth with determination. She tastes slick and sweet, and her heels press against his back as she gasps, writhing on the bed so much that he has to hold her still with his hands on her hips. 

While he enjoys this and applies himself most thoroughly, it is not as easy to ascertain what she likes most, where she wants him to concentrate his attentions, because he cannot see her. He needs more information to bring her off, as her thrashing is making it difficult to concentrate. 

Eventually he pulls away and raises up, reaching for one of her hands and carrying it down to place it over herself. “Show me how you enjoy it, so that I may do it as you wish and bring you pleasure.” 

He waits, staring intently at her hand, but she doesn’t do anything. Hubert looks up with a frown. “You do know how to --” 

“Yes! Yes. I -- all right.” She throws one arm over her face, and then starts moving her hand between her legs. Hubert watches with his usual attention to strategy and detail, though it’s a bit less focused. The sight is quite something. 

He pays attention to the way she rubs herself, the pattern she likes, the speed and pressure. At some point when he shifts his attention and looks up, it’s to see that she’s gasping at the ceiling, flushed and damp with sweat, hair sticking to her face. Her hand between her legs is moving quickly, and her thighs are trembling, but she is still on the edge and has yet to find her release. 

“Hubert, you’re -- watching me,” she says, eyes squeezed shut. 

Honestly, must he repeat this, again? “Yes, I wish to see what you like. It does not appear to be this, perhaps you ought to try something else.” 

“I -- I don’t -- sometimes it takes me...I’ve never let anyone _watch_ before.” She opens one eye. “Isn’t this enough of an idea to get you started? You were doing well, before, I assure you.” 

She sounds disgruntled. Hubert smiles at her, feeling as wicked as everyone thinks he is. “Not quite yet.” 

“Stop smiling at me, you snake, and help.” 

He leans in and presses his mouth to her ear, thinking about this entire encounter thus far and what she might like to hear. “Relax, my lady. I only seek to serve you as you wish. Whether it be slaughtering those who oppose you on the field of battle, or pleasuring you with my mouth, I will do so to the best of my ability. Command me in this as you do everything else, and show me how I should make you come.” 

He touches her, stroking a hand over her stomach, her breasts. He pinches one of her nipples, pleased when that gets a little shuddering moan from her. 

One hand shoots out to grab his shoulder, and her nails dig into his arm as she grinds against her own palm, heels digging into the bed and hips thrusting up. Interesting. She prefers quite a firm touch, then, to finish. Not unlike himself, as it happens. 

She’s quiet when she comes, her whole body bow-strung tense before she falls onto the bed with a long, soft sigh. Hubert watches the way she relaxes, strokes the strands of her silver hair out of her face. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I believe that gave me valuable information. Do let me know when you’re ready for me to advance.” 

“ _Advance._ Hubert, you’re insufferable,” she gasps. “Though I don’t know what else I expected.”

“Nor do I. You should know by now I would never defile my reputation and do anything less than my most ruthless,” Hubert assures her. 

After a few moments, she pats him on the shoulder. “All right. Advance, loyal soldier.” 

He kisses back down her body and settles once more between her legs, which are still trembling. She’s so pliant and relaxed, it almost causes him some concern to see her so unguarded. But the wards will hold, and even if they didn’t, he would die before he let anything, or anyone, hurt her. 

He presses his mouth against her once more, worshipful in a way no cathedral shall ever inspire. The taste of her is sharper after her release, and he applies all his newfound knowledge to making her writhe again in short order. She grinds against his face as she rushes toward her pleasure, and to feel her come against his face is yet another mark of an exemplary performance. Excellent. 

“Enough,” she says finally, shoving a bit at his shoulder. “I’m -- thank you. That was….you do pay attention. A fine general.” 

Hubert pulls back, eases her legs from off his shoulders and sits up. She’s staring at his mouth, which is slick and wet from his ministrations, and then quite without warning she grabs him by the neck, pulls him down and kisses him. 

That she is tasting the essence of her pleasure from his mouth is yet another sign he has succeeded in giving her what she wanted. Yes, his skills are improving. He does like to do things well. 

His cock begins to harden again just at the thought. Her clever tongue licks and licks at her own taste, and Hubert lets her push him to his back so that she’s leaning over him, her hair tickling his bare skin and being rather a nuisance, if he’s honest. 

When she moves away from his mouth, she pulls her hair back with both hands and holds the mass of it up, twisting it to keep it off her neck. “Thank you for that.” 

He inclines his head. “Of course.” 

Edelgard, holding her hair and kneeling naked beside him, _should_ look like some tawdry illustration in an erotic manuscript. Instead, she looks like a fierce warrior who is even now in control... and that makes it far more arousing to him.

“Did you enjoy that?” she asks, finally allowing her hair to fall back down. 

“I believe we’ve covered that I do, in fact, delight in doing your bidding,” he answers. 

“You’d rather kill for me, though, wouldn’t you?” Edelgard puts a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Your delight comes from serving my goals and ambitions, though. Not making me come.” 

“My lady, you were the one who told me that my taking you to bed did, in fact, serve those goals,” he reminds her. “Are you saying I did not succeed?” 

She shakes her head, and there is some sense of censure there that he doesn’t quite follow as she pats his chest. Her hand moves down over his stomach. “You did. But we are not quite done, my faithful servant. I have had my pleasure, now I wish to see you take _yours_.” 

Hubert startles as he feels her small hand curl around his half-hard cock. He sucks in a breath. “I assure you, it is not necessary.” He can take care of this himself as he always does, when she leaves for the evening. 

She makes a face at him. “And yet, I say it is.” She’s stroking his cock, and no one but him has ever _done_ that before. It’s all wrong, her touch too hesitant, too light, her grip not tight enough. And yet it is hard to breathe. “I want to. So perhaps you should show me how you like it, as I showed you.” 

Hubert takes himself in hand, and though he flushes hot with the strangeness of having this activity _observed_ this is what she wants so it is what he will give her. He strokes his cock, thinking about earlier, her praise when he knelt for her. 

_...there is no one who can outmatch you when it comes to devotion and loyalty._

His breath catches, his cock fully hardening under his hand as he strokes. And while he would never presume to use the memory of her coming from his mouth on her for his own prurient desires, it was done on her command and to her satisfaction, so -- 

_Smack._

The sound reaches him a half-second before the feel of it, her open palm against his face. It isn’t a hard smack -- he’s been accosted with more vitriol by an overturned training dummy in the yard during drills. But the implication is that he has done something so dreadfully wrong that she saw fit to _smack_ him for it, and Hubert is caught between horror and the strangest surge of arousal, enough that his cock grows harder even as he hears himself growl, “What offense have I committed?” 

“I will do that,” she says, all haughty arrogance as she knocks his stroking hand off his own cock. She takes over again, and this time she’s using a tighter grip and mimicking what he was doing in a way that drags a low groan out of his throat and forces his breathing into something uneven and ragged. “You don’t like it when I make _you_ feel good just for your own sake, do you?” 

“Lady Edelgard--” 

“No, you’re going to enjoy this,” she commands. “You _will_ learn to take the rewards I give you, Hubert. Now, you will instruct me how to do it properly.” 

“That is -- you are performing -- quite adequately,” he manages, shivering a bit. For all his careful application of his mouth, for all his touches and his very real desire to please her, he is unprepared for the way it feels to have her touching him in so intimate a manner. Doing this himself is pleasurable, of course, but this is almost too much, it’s like battlefield-magic and fog and being drunk all rolled into one. 

Dangerous. It is _dangerous._ Though there is no denying he likes it, his cock slick with pre-come, making her hand move faster, easier, on him. “That, yes, ah -- a bit tighter, and if you --” he reaches down, shows her how to twist her wrist on the upstroke. “Like that. Lady Edelgard--” he doesn’t know how to tell her that he cannot conceive of finishing in her hand. It seems so wrong, and yet -- like the smack on his face -- the thought of it makes his toes curl and his cock _ache._

If Hubert has ever been so turned on before in his life, so eager to come, he cannot fathom when it might have been. 

“What do you think about, when you touch yourself like this when you’re alone? Is it my plans, my grand triumph?” 

“I -- sometimes,” he growls, grabbing at the bedding beneath him. “I think about what I might have to do for you.” 

“Such as?” She tilts her head, eyes so intent on his it’s as if she’s trying to stare through him. 

“My lady,” he tries protesting, again. “Often, the things I, ah, _imagine_. They are quite.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Depraved.” 

“Are they?” She slows her hand and for a terrible moment he wonders if he has offended her. Instead, she moves and climbs atop him as if he’s a war horse and she’s part of some mounted cavalry unit. She settles herself on top of him, her slick wet heat pressed against his cock, and for a heart-stopping moment he wonders if she means to ride him in truth. 

Part of him wants it, desperately, to have pleased her so much that he would earn such a thing as to be within her, _inside of her --_

And yet. Another part of him is wary of it, the complications it may cause, the _physical_ complications if they are not careful that could throw a wrench into everything they’ve planned. 

Not just a wrench. An _explosion._

Not worth it, as good as it would doubtless feel to bury his hard cock in her tight wet heat. To feel her come for him, _on_ him, like she had against his mouth. The thought is enough to nearly make him come, right then and there. 

“Edelgard.” Hubert tightens his grip on her hips, trying to still her before they both get carried away. _Remind yourself why she chose you for this, von Vestra. Get ahold of yourself._ “We -- there are precautions that must be taken and I have none of them at my disposal.” 

“I know.” She leans in, her hair a rainfall of silk, and kisses him. “Trust me in this as you do everything else.” 

He nods helplessly as she settles over him. She seats herself so that his cock is pressed against her wet slit, and rocks her hips, rubbing against the hard length of his cock. The slick slide is sinful. He does not want her to stop. His fingers tighten on her hips and he has to force himself to ease his grip so he does not leave bruises. 

“Now,” she demands, hands braced on his shoulders. “Tell me what depraved things you think about, when you pleasure yourself.” 

His head is swimming. “Perhaps a time or two, thinking of taking someone down for you. Killing those who have hurt you. Who _would_ hurt you. Who would stand in your way.” His cock is nestled between the swollen folds of her sex, maddeningly good, pulling all his dark fantasies out and giving them voice. “Routing them mercilessly and tirelessly until they have no place to hide, leaving them kneeling and broken and begging for mercy--” 

She moans, head going back, moving on top of him not just for _his_ pleasure, now, but her own as well. As it should be. “And would you show them mercy?” 

“Never,” he swears, giving over to this, to her, to the spark of white-hot lust for _victory_ that burns between them. “No mercy and no quarter given, I will make them beg instead to _die_ \--”

Her nails dig into his shoulders as she moves with him, on top of him, and while he did not want to hurt _her_ , he finds the sharp bite of pain just as delicious as the pleasure. “Yes,” he urges her. “Take what you will of me, I am _yours_.” 

“I--” Edelgard gasps, letting herself be dragged harder against his erection, digging her nails in when she understands that he wants her to, wants more, wants to be used up. “Yes, you are mine and you’re so - so good to me -- you won’t leave me, you _won’t_ \--” 

Hubert _moans_ , a sound he’s never made when he does this alone, even when his fantasies skirt the same dark edges. “Always,” he manages, fucking up against her as much as he can. “I shall be at your side until the very end.” 

Edelgard makes another pleased sound and takes one hand away from scratching down Hubert’s chest to rub herself as she grinds against him, fast and hard. “The end, when the world is remade, when we have _won_.” 

“Yes,” Hubert moans, nonsensical, so close now he can feel himself tighten in anticipation of his release. He stares up at her, lost, entranced, so utterly willing, so _eager_ , to be burned by her holy flame. “ _Yes_.” 

“When it happens, when we’ve cut our bloody path and seen the Church and its false goddess purged and laid to waste--” 

“Yes, _yes_ \--” 

“Then you may have me, if you wish,” she says, and she uses both her hands to scratch him, now, nails digging into his chest hard enough to draw blood. “Take me, like I know you want to.” She leans in close, like he did earlier when he made her come on her own hand. “ _Fuck_ me.” 

How delicious and wrong that sounds, and how he _wants_ . To show his devotion so completely at the moment of their greatest victory. To wrap himself up in her so they are one in body like they are in mind. “Oh, _yes._ Yes, my emperor. I shall fuck you on their throne of ruin until you _scream_ from pleasure--” 

Edelgard doesn’t scream but she _does_ come, again, on his cock. The feeling is indescribable, like the only blessing from the only goddess he shall ever worship, the only holy thing to which he will ever offer prayers of thanks. She raises her hand, smeared slightly with blood from the scratches she’s left. 

She looks him dead in the eye and brings her scarlet-stained fingers to her mouth, tongue curling around the edges as she licks. 

Hubert cries out and comes beneath her, against her, _for her._ He has lived for her, he will kill for her, and now he has come for her -- all that is left is to die for her, and in some strange way he wonders if it might feel just as good as this. 

She falls on top of him, her body slick with sweat and trembling. He wraps his arms around her and buries his face in the tangle of her hair, and it’s caught in his mouth when he breathes like a web from which he seeks no escape. His eyes close and Hubert sighs, dares to stroke a hand down her hair, just once, before pulling it away. 

Edelgard lifts her head. “I’m quite sure no one in the history of ever has said _I shall fuck you on their throne of ruin until you scream_ as pillow-talk.” 

Hubert feels his face go hot. “You’ll forgive me the momentary impassioned speech, I’m sure.” 

“I’m sure.” She climbs off him and pats him on the chest, then goes to retrieve her clothing. “Thank you, Hubert. I can see the danger inherent in this sort of thing, if you and I became so caught up in it. I shall do well to avoid these activities with -- with anyone.” 

“As I said, coyness does not suit you,” Hubert says, arms behind his head. He is unconcerned by his nakedness -- his lady found him useful, suitable, and therefore there is no reason to feel shame or hide himself from her gaze. “There is always the chance the Professor will join us, when it the time comes.” 

“Hubert!” She straightens, dressed again in her tights and uniform short-pants, in the midst of pulling her chemise over her disheveled hair. “Perhaps Ferdinand might keep you company when the time comes, as well.” 

Honestly. “To annoy me, you mean. If he still draws breath. My lady, do see to your hair.” He rolls his eyes as she sticks her tongue out at him, and watches as she retrieves his comb and drags it through the tangled mass. It must hurt, but she ignores the pain as she forces the comb through. 

“As for the Professor joining us...it is unlikely, though I would welcome it. Would you, or do you still maintain there is reason to be cautious around her?” 

Hubert thinks about Byleth’s empty blue eyes, her archaic smile, her voice as clear and hollow as the chapel bells at vespers. There is something about the Professor he does not trust, but it is impossible to put into words what it is. If Edelgard is like the whitest part of a flame, Byleth is an unlit match -- somehow more dangerous because it’s yet to light, and the purpose for the flame remains unknown. 

“I advise caution in all matters, especially concerning potential allies. You know that.” 

“I do.” Edelgard finishes with her hair and affixes her cape, slides her feet back into her heels. She looks mostly put together, at least enough for the short walk to her room. “And I will trust you, of course. If she learns the truth and chooses to fight under our banner, she will be welcome. If not, I will see her cut down as I will anyone who dares stand in my way.” 

Hubert smiles at her. “Indeed, my lady. And I shall wield the sword, if you but demand it of me.” 

“I know you would. But I would do it myself, if it came to that. At any rate, it is not yet time.” She pauses, and then says, “Thank you for this. I do appreciate it, and I enjoyed it. Please don’t think I leave your room a lovesick maiden, however. I am glad to know what the fuss is about, but it is still...well. A fuss. And honestly, a bit messy, at that.” She glances at him and then _smirks_. “Hubert! Are you blushing?” 

“I -- you could have made use of my bathing room, if you wanted,” he grouses, but he _is_ a bit abashed to have failed to see to her needs. “My apologies for my oversight.” 

“Think nothing of it. I shall launder these and I could do with a soak. Good night, Hubert.” 

“Good night, my lady.” He waves a lazy hand to dismiss the wards, and watches as she opens his door and slips out into the night from whence she came. 

It isn’t until he finally rises to wash and dress for bed that he sees the ribbon she’d given him to hold back her hair. It had escaped, of course, and lies half-crushed from where’d been lying with her astride him. 

His cock stirs at the memory. Perhaps he, too, will indulge in a longer bath than usual. 

But first. The ribbon. 

Hubert takes it in hand and runs the silk between his fingers. He thinks about returning it, but on a whim decides he’ll keep it. A momento. His lady’s favor. 

He places it gently in his magic tome, like a bookmark. Right between the spells for _Death_ and _Ruin._

It seems fitting. Like a promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> what if i wrote byleth/edelgard/hubert on the throne of ruin post crimson flower....? anyway. 
> 
> pls come yell about this game with me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare) i need more fe3h frands :D


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